


A Heart as black as this

by suchadearie



Category: Eragon (2006), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Confinement, F/M, Possible Character Death, dragon!Belle, dub con, incestuous vibes, tw blood, tw torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchadearie/pseuds/suchadearie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Durza manages to gain possession of a dragon egg unlike any he's ever seen. What hatches is not what he expected, but he will do whatever it takes to turn his little hatchling into the dragon he craves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Durza observed the stone resting amidst glowing embers. It was larger than any dragon stone he’d seen before. Yet, it unmistakably was one. Shaped like an egg, scaled, reflecting the glow of the hearth with an unearthly glimmer. The taste of magic crackled heavily around it, and he didn’t dare to touch it. The magic prickling against his palate warned him of touching the stone, even though his fingertips itched to brush along its curve, itched to press a palm against its shell.

“Where did you find this?” he asked the merchant cowering before him, merely a lump of flesh now that the Urgals were finished with him.

The man groaned. “Please, I don’t know…”

“Liar!” Durza waved his hand, sending a flash of biting pain through the merchant’s limbs.

“Please, I… I stole it.” The admission ended in a strangled sob. Durza stopped his torture.

“And where did you steal it, thief?”

The man didn’t answer at once. But after another jolt of bone-melting pain, he gurgled out a word: “Avonlea.”

The Frontlands. Durza turned back to the stone. Was it possible that there were dragons in the faraway lands beyond the mountains? Dragons that were bigger and fiercer than those known in this land? If the size of the egg was any indication, then this dragon had to be huge. If it ever hatched, that was. He extended a hand, black claws longing to press into the furrow between two scales and crack the shell, but it wasn’t his to touch. Durza made a fist and pressed it to his chest, swallowing the thirst to reach out and quelling any notion of disobedience towards his master.

Turning, he waved his hand at the lump of broken bones and flesh on the ground. The eyes of the thief were white with fear. “Take him away,” he ordered the Urgals. “Eat him.”

He remained deaf to the pleading, the screams as his creatures dragged the man away. The egg was calling out to him, dragging him closer, making his scars burn and crackle with the temptation. And why should he not lay his hands on the glowing shell? It wasn’t as if he would ever bring a dragon to hatch for him. He wasn’t a rider. He was a shade.

Yet he hesitated, claws hovering inches above the shell. The stone pulsed, radiating something bright and annoying, like a high pitched whistle, growing more perturbing the closer he came. Durza moved fast, bridging the space separating him from the stone with sudden force, for it was as if he had to push against an invisible resistance. The noise stopped. Beneath his palm, the stone was hot.

And then it cracked.

Durza leapt back. His senses had to be deceiving him. He had to be imagining the crack running across the stone from where he’d touched it. The blue light shining through that split had to be a hallucination. There was heavy magic at play, magic meant to deceive him, to toy with him. Magic strong enough to play tricks on him, for he heard the sound of a shell breaking, and smelled the sulphuric scent of burnt scales. The stone lurched, tottered on its bed of embers and coals, tilting precariously at the edge of the hearth before it toppled down and split open. A bone-splitting scream filled the vast room, echoing from the rafters, rendering the tittering rodents rustling in corners and shadows silent for a long beat. Even the Urgals clunking and growling about the fortress fell silent at the shrieking sound.

Carefully, he approached the broken egg and the wailing creature inside. When his shadow fell over the opening, darkening the insides of the egg, the noise stopped, ending in an odd gurgle.

It was a tiny thing that lay inside the egg, pink flesh, toes and fingers with pearlescent nails, a wisp of dark hair on its head, and eyes as blue as the frozen lakes of winter.

“You’re not a dragon,” Durza stated, and the thing gurgled once more. Naked and vulnerable was it, like a piglet ready for slaughter. The shade bent over the broken egg, not sure how to proceed. So he just silently stared at it, and it stared back.

Female, he noted, tilting his head. Human anatomy, soft skin as permeable as the film covering an egg yolk. No feathers, no scales, no spikes, not even hair, apart from the downy fluff on the skull. Its unblinking gaze was discomforting, and Durza straightened. He’d hardly taken a step back when the creature resumed its shrieking and wailing.

It stopped when he bent over the egg again. And resumed when he disappeared from sight.

“Stop it!” he hissed, bending over the egg once more. The noise increased in volume, and up in the rafters, the flutter of wings told of the uneasiness of crows and ravens. The thing kicked and screamed, and its head turned dark. Durza pointed a dark talon at its face, but the magic dripping from it - nothing lethal, just a sleeping curse - had no effect on the screaming thing. Smashing its skull against a wall would certainly silence the thing, but even though it wasn’t a dragon, it had hatched from a dragon’s egg, so killing it might be a waste. Durza fought the urge to kick against the shell. Of course, no dragon would hatch to him, but this was even worse than having no dragon.

Gnashing his teeth, the shade reached into the egg and slipped his hands beneath the naked worm, careful not to scratch it with his nails. As he lifted it out of the shell, the thing stopped crying. It seemed almost content, cradled in Durza’s sharp claws and face to face with him, at arm’s length. But what was he to do with it now?

He sat down behind his heavy desk, propping the thing up on his knee, for even a sorcerer as powerful as he felt exhaustion in his limbs after holding up a lump of wriggling flesh with outstretched arms.

“A dragon would at least be able to sit on its own,” he growled, and the thing made a sound like a pigeon deep in its throat.

It occurred to him that he would need to feed it. Most creatures needed something to sustain them. This creature probably was no exception. In a far off corner of the room, tiny feet scurried about, and with a flick of his wrist - while momentarily holding the thing upright with only one hand - he entrapped the mouse with his magic and materialized it in his grip. Holding the animal’s tail between his fingertips, he offered the struggling mouse to the hatchling.

It stilled for a moment, blue eyes growing wide. The next moment, it resumed crying. Durza threw the mouse against the wall, letting it feel his frustration. It bounced off the wall with an almost inaudible sound and landed dead on the floor. A mouse was too little to soothe his rage. He called his Urgals.

“Bring me a wet nurse,” he commanded. The Urgals grunted, looked at each other with confusion. “Alive.”

“Wet nurse?” one of them asked.

Durza got up, after shifting his grip on the little thing so he cradled it on his left arm, freeing his right to put a sharp talon against the Urgal’s forehead, between his bulging brows. The Urgal’s eyes widened in stupid terror. Exactly like it should be.

“A wet nurse. A maid with full tits, ready to milk. Do you think you can do that?”

The Urgal nodded, mouth hanging open.

“Good. Then better hurry.”

The naked worm in his arm gurgled and kicked, creasing its face as it sucked air into its lungs and let out another bone-splitting wail. The Urgals flinched, and retreated in remarkable haste, probably as glad as Urgals could be that he allowed them to keep their lives. And maybe their gratefulness motivated them to fulfill their task quickly and without the mistakes that usually riddled their actions. Durza was just contemplating stuffing the thing back into its shell and sealing it with soundproof magic when they returned, dropping a bloodied form before him. The bundle gave off sounds as if it was being choked and beaten, and Durza had to slide the tip of his boot under the woman’s chin to move her face up from the floor. Her eyes were full of horror and loss, pain far greater than that of her mangled limbs.

“She’s broken.” Durza pulled his boot back, but the woman didn’t dare to look down again. Never take your eyes off the shade, but never look at him directly.

“She’s alive,” one of the Urgals grunted.

It was true enough, but she looked like her milk must have gone sour. Durza held out the naked worm and bared his teeth in a smile without mercy.

“Feed it.”

The woman sobbed, quivered, but she knew what was good for her. The Urgals grunted and barked when she bared a breast and held the thing to it, pushing a dark nipple against the crying, toothless mouth. Shriek - for Durza thought it needed a name, and naming it after the noise it made seemed the obvious thing to do - snapped after the offered nipple, and the woman gasped in surprise when its jaws closed around her flesh. And for a moment, long enough for Durza to believe the problem was solved, it was quiet.

The silence lasted no longer than the deep breath of relief Durza took; first the woman cried out, and then Shriek opened its jaws again, letting the nipple - dark red and bloody - slip and began screaming once more. In its open mouth, it showed pearly white teeth, smeared with blood. Durza took the babe from the woman’s arm, kicking her as he did so, and held it up to examine the four perfectly even incisors.

“You didn’t have teeth a minute ago.”

Shriek paused its wailing and smiled at him, holding out chubby arms. It seemed bigger and heavier than when he’d given it to the wet nurse. The woman still lay on the ground, staring terrified at the babe, and trying to cover her mauled flesh. A thought struck Durza, and he summoned a knife, sharp enough to cut bone like the soft flesh of pears. Maybe the babe didn’t need nor want the wet nurse’s milk, but her raw flesh.

The wet nurse tried to crawl away when he bent over her, wielding his blade, but the motion was stopped by the heavy legs of Urgals, blocking her way out. She froze when Durza trailed the tip of his knife from her jaw down her throat, not cutting her just yet.

“Hold still and you may live,” he drawled, shifting the heavy babe on his left arm. It struggled and kicked, keeping him from placing a clean cut.

“Please… just let me try again,” the woman said, and her whisper trembled with desperation.

“You had your chance.”

“I didn’t know that the babe has teeth!”

Durza hesitated. The teeth had come as a surprise to him, too. “You get one last try. Fail again, and I’ll cut you to pieces and feed them to anyone hungry.”

The woman extended shaking arms to take the babe from him. Shriek creased its face when it left his arm, and Durza held his breath in anticipation of the noise to come, but just when the ever crying mouth opened, the wet nurse shoved her long, bloody nipple back in and silenced it. This time, Shriek suckled for longer, but the woman groaned, tears leaving muddy trails on her dirty cheeks. She didn’t dare to stop feeding, but Durza suspected that his little babe sucked as much blood as it sucked milk. A cruel creature, like a dragon ought to be. When it let go of the teat, it was bloodier than before, but at least Shriek seemed content and didn’t cry again. It kicked and wriggled and stretched, and the woman held it out for Durza to take it back.

“It needs to be wrapped,” she said, but only when he took it up, did he understand what she meant. It was too late, though. Warm liquid trickled down Shriek’s legs and seeped into Durza’s surcoat. The wet nurse shrank away, as if she expected him to punish her for the malicious worm’s transgression. He might, but she still could be useful.

“Bring me something to wrap it,” he addressed the Urgals.

In the time it took them to fetch various things more or less suited to wrap the babe, Shriek seemed to grow heavier on his arm, and ever less inclined to hold still. Its pink skin crackled and prickled in Durza’s grip, growing so unpleasant to the touch that he placed it in its broken shell once more. The egg had shrunken, and it was almost too small now to hold the hatchling.

The Urgals came back, offering him hides, rags, roughly woven fabrics, nothing fit to clothe a dragon. Only one had been clever enough to bring lengths of silks and brocades, goods from some looting or other. Durza chose silks of the color of Shriek’s eyes, blue as the frosted sky, to wrap the babe. After wrapping it, immobilizing it with layer after layer of silk, the little thing finally fell asleep, closing its piercing eyes and smiling, its lips still smeared with blood and milk.

Durza considered himself gracious for healing the woman, righting broken bones with a magic that only ever was used in destructive ways. He granted her this gift because it required less effort to heal and keep her than to send the Urgals fetching him another one. Though, if Shriek kept chewing on her, he would eventually need a new wet nurse.

While the wet nurse quietly sobbed in a corner and the hatchling slept, Durza went through books and ancient scrolls in search of anything that would explain what exactly he was dealing with. The works on dragons and dragon stones were plenty, but nearly all of them dealt with the sort of dragon Durza knew from this land. Dragons that hatched when they felt the presence of their rider, dragons that lived in symbiosis with their rider, dragons that communicated telepathically. The words on creatures wearing human faces hatching from dragon eggs, however, were sparse and restricted to legends. The legends told that those magic beings would turn into dragons at will, but there was nothing on how to rule them, and nothing about their nature. Would they be bound to a rider? The scrolls were annoyingly diffuse on the needs of such dragons as well.

When he returned, the babe was no longer asleep. It no longer was a babe, either. In the time he’d been absent, it had grown into a toddler, and it currently explored the room, crawling through the dirt, dragging a trail of blue silks after it. When he entered the room, its face lit up, and it plopped to its bum and extended chubby arms towards him, giving off a laugh sounding like the tingle of silver bells.

“You’re not one of the intelligent sort, are you?” Durza wrinkled his nose, taking a step back when the toddler started crawling towards him.

Shriek paused. When the smile fell from the little face, there was a sting somewhere between Durza’s ribs, a notion so unfamiliar and peculiar and long forgotten that he quelled it instantly. Pity wasn’t something he was used to experiencing, and what else but pity could it be? He refused to examine the feeling closer, though.

The toddler changed direction, exploring the room on hands and knees, while Durza watched it from his seat of antlers and bones. It seemed that each time he took his eyes off it, even if only for a heartbeat, it was slightly bigger or more agile when he looked at it again. The wisp of hair that had been covering its skull thickened and grew longer, framing the toddler’s face with soft, dark locks.

Shriek stopped its exploration in a corner, grabbing something that, at first, looked like a handful dirt, but turned out to be a mouse when Durza looked closer. The wet nurse, still cowering in a corner, gasped when Shriek brought the wriggling animal up and bit into it with razor sharp teeth. It munched away with a zeal that dismayed Durza beyond reason.

“I offered you a mouse earlier! What makes this one better than mine?”

Shriek paused chewing at the sound of his voice, tilting its head and frowning at him. The clear eyes of the creature dissected him, and Durza grew irritable over the vague sense of being as transparent as vellum made from day old yeanlings. Yet, he was unable to shake off the offense, just as little as he could shed his skin. The toddler clenched the corpse of the tiny rodent between its teeth and crossed the room on hands and knees, silk rustling behind it like garlands of sapphires and diamonds, shimmering in the light of candles and torches. Durza remained still like a corpse himself when Shriek reached him and grabbed his knee with paws blackened from dirt and blood, pulling itself up to stand on plump legs. With a smile full of grubby teeth, it offered him what was left of the mouse, not much more than a naked tail, hindlegs and a spine sucked clean from flesh.

He took its offer like he would take the offering of a cat, pinching the rodent’s tail between thumb and forefinger and intending to discard it on his desk, out of sight for the toddler. But Shriek’s eyes followed the gift, and it displayed the same sense of being proud and pleased with itself that a cat would show. When he placed the mouse on the table, Shriek’s face darkened. A thin wail formed in its throat, preceding a shrill scream when it flopped back on its bum.

Durza raised his eyebrows. “Extortion doesn’t work on me, duckling.”

Shriek stopped the noise, but tears, fat like pearls from the South, rolled down its cheeks. Durza had to avert his eyes, uncomfortable with the hurt the little thing displayed. With a sigh, he picked up the mouse again and, tilting his head back, dangled it above his mouth, pretending to eat it. Before the fuzzy rodent touched his lips, he let it disappear, but Shriek believed his ruse and gurgled happily again.

“Really not the most clever creature, are you?” Durza patted Shriek’s head, with its hair as soft as down feathers. Purring like a kitten, Shriek snuggled against his palm and hugged his calf. It left Durza torn between resentment and some other feeling he could neither remember nor recognize, which made him despise it all the more.


	2. Chapter 2

The hatchling grew at an alarming rate. A few days after hatching, it had already grown into a child, gracile and ethereal like a fae, and cruel like a marten that killed for no other reason than sports and bloodlust. It never occurred to Durza to act as a moral guide for the twig-like thing, or to restrain it in its innocent savagery.

The wet nurse, long dispensable and kept only to wait the child, was terrified of her charge. Shriek, only three days old, tried to humor the woman by bringing her bigger and bigger prey - the last had been a rat the size of a rabbit - only to remain disheartened when the woman didn’t appreciate the gifts she received. Durza watched it with growing fascination. He still pretended eating whatever mangled and torn prey was laid at his feet, and the joy lighting up the little face drew a smile to his own.

It was three days after hatching that Shriek spoke for the first time. Her voice was clear and beautiful as her laugh, tingling like chimes of glass and jewels.

“What is my name?”

The question startled Durza. His quill scratched over the scroll in front of him when his hand slipped, leaving a dark scar, and a prickle at the base of his skull.

“You’re my treasure, duckling,” he said.

“That’s not a name.” There was a certain indignation in her voice, impatience at his failure to answer her question.

Durza put the quill away and patted his knee, and she followed the gesture and climbed onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. No one ever dared to touch him, and three days hadn’t been enough for him to get used to the casualness in the way she touched him, even sought out the contact. The first time she’d put her paws to his face and followed the scars on his temples with her fingertips, he’d grown still as a stone and as cold as the glaciers up in the mountains.

“You don’t have a name yet, duckling. Usually, the dragon tells its rider the name. But you’re not a dragon.”

“So I can tell you my name? And you stop calling me Shriek?”

Durza wondered if his skin had retained some of its ability to blush from when he’d still been a man, not a shade, for it felt tighter and warmer on his bones than usually. “I don’t call you Shriek.”

“You do. You call me Shriek when you talk to Loes about me.”

“Who’s Loes?” Durza asked.

“My wet nurse.”

Durza avoided her clear blue gaze. He hadn’t cared for the name of the woman. He hadn’t even cared that she got fed beyond the rodents Shriek brought her. “You can tell me your name,” he conceded, gruffly, for hiding greed and any gentleness that could be taken for weakness. A shade wasn’t gentle, nor was it weak. But he was greedy for her name, for names held power. Knowing the name of a thing meant commanding it.

“But you have to promise me to keep it safe, Father.”

Durza tilted his head, observing the child on his lap. Wondering if it would be wise to point out that he wasn’t anyone’s father, least of all hers. Carefully, he clasped a tiny hand and held it open with his long, spidery fingers. He painted a spiral into the dirty palm, his nail dripping with shadows. His magic never blemished her, as if her skin, looking so thin and vulnerable, was impermeable to his darkness. “I swear to keep your name safe.”

For all her apprehension and fast learning, she was still a gullible child, so she didn’t blink at the reservations his promise held, nor at its vagueness.

“My name’s Belle.”

“Belle.” He tried it out, let it roll off his tongue, tasted it, let it mingle with his breath; It felt like a caress filling him from inside, and he wondered if not he was the one being commanded by her name.

“Does that make me your rider?” he asked, opening his eyes again - but when had he closed them? - and bringing her hand up to kiss her fingertips with his marred lips.

Belle hopped off his lap, gathering the silk of her shift around her. There was more dignity and disdain in her face than any child possessed. “I don’t have a rider. I’m not a slave dragon. I am my own.”

Durza stretched his lips into a smile as thin as a razor blade. The child dragon might think she was her own, but she had given him her name, and he would find a way to make her his slave, fight it as she might. He watched her dance off, pirouetting with naked feet through soot and dust, and withstood the temptation to touch his lips, where the memory of her skin still prickled. She was but a child now, but she would grow into a woman soon enough.

The more she grew up, though, the slower she seemed to age. She still was a child, small and thin and too trusting in him, but there was a certain energy bubbling about her that spoke of the woman awakening inside the child. She still curled up on his lap when he sat in his horned chair, unafraid of the shadows dripping from his fingertips and blackening his smiles, snuggling into the crook of his arms while he was poring over scrolls speaking of dragons and magic. She played with the tassels on his wide sleeves, traced the embroidered edges of his robes, and braided his hair when he wasn’t paying attention. Belle had more of a cat than a dragon about her, and he only endured her pestering him with this familiarity because he promised himself a dragon.

He was more and more clueless how to get her to become that dragon, though, and neither the scrolls nor she herself were really helpful. She chased shadows about the castle and hoarded jewels and gems, picking them out of treasure chests or embellished weaponry, brought to his lair by the Urgals, and he had to admit that it had a certain appeal to watch his Urgals struggle to come up for apologies when they opened their plunderage before him and it had already been raided and stripped of everything that glittered. He had no idea how she did it, but he recognized her skills. If he got his hands on a piece of jewelry first, he found a disconcerting joy in giving it to her.

It was three weeks after her hatching that he noticed breasts budding on her hitherto flat chest. He observed the change of her body when he gave her the necklace of silver and sapphires as blue as her eyes, and for a moment, it distracted him and almost allowed her to snatch the necklace from his hand. He was dangling it in front of her face, and her eyes followed it like those of a cat, utterly transfixed by the treasure he offered her. The cut stones reflected the light of candles and torches, and flecks of it danced across her skin and were thrown back from her irises. She followed the tear shaped pendant swinging back and forth with a growing darkness in her eyes.

“I have a gift for you, duckling,” he purred, pulling the necklace out of her reach when she climbed onto his lap. It was then, when she pressed her chest against his and clawed at his shoulder, stretching to reach the necklace, that he noticed the gentle swell beneath her tunic, little breasts with perking nipples he could feel through the layers of her and his clothing like pearls. He was so stunned by this discovery - and, moreover, by what it did to him - that he almost let go of the necklace. Belle gave off a growl, and that shook him out of it. Durza shoved her back by pressing his free hand to her stomach.

“Please, father, give it to me,” she begged, stretching her arms after the necklace like she had begged to be lifted up in his arms when she’d been a toddler.

“Be nice, little Belle, and it will be your reward.”

It seemed almost impossible for her to let her hands sink and fold them in her lap, and something wild glinted in her eyes when she pouted. “I am nice.”

“Do you want my gift or not?” He dared to dangle it a little closer, and watched with fascination as the darkness in her eyes swallowed every bit of blue.

“Please?”

“Turn into a dragon for me, and it’s yours.” It was a request he would make from time to time, and she would always tilt her head and smile at him like he was an imbecile. But she would never turn, and she would chide him for demanding it of her. This time, though, she closed her eyes and held her breath, clenching every muscle in her tiny body. Durza held his breath, too, until she gasped for air and sagged against his chest once more.

“I can’t… I’m so sorry, father. Please don’t be angry with me.” Her voice shook, and she sounded so upset that there was a twinge between his ribs. He placed a black nail under her chin and tilted up her face.

“Don’t worry, little Belle. I won’t be angry if you promise to try again, and try hard, alright?”

Belle nodded vigorously. “I promise.”

“Good. Then hop down, and turn around.”

She frowned, but obeyed, despite the distrust that had her draw her brows together. It was hard for her to turn her back to the jewels in his hand, and Durza wondered briefly if she would turn into a dragon if he didn’t give her the necklace she craved so much. But she was doing her best to please him, so he decided to save cruelty for another time, and instead placed the jewels around her neck, trailing his fingertips along the curve of her shoulders after clasping it shut. He could feel her brim with joy, and when he let go of her, she bounced on the balls of her feet, gracing him with the widest smile when she turned around, the pendant clasped tightly in her fist.

“Thank you,” she chirped, hopping at his side and pressing her lips to his marred cheek. “I love you, father. You are so kind!”

“Hush, little Belle,” he murmured. He hadn’t expected the onslaught of guilt he would feel over her innocent admiration and love, for he certainly didn’t deserve it. The necklace she was examining with gleaming eyes had been paid in blood, like everything in his lair. But what was a little slaughter when it came to a dragon?

From there on, he watched her even more closely. His gifts never managed to awaken the dragon in her, but they made her more affectionate towards him. For every gem he gave her, she would throw her arms around his neck and snuggle up against him, sometimes rubbing against him like a kitten begging to get its itching fur scratched. She never flinched away from his touch.

While her body ripened into that of a young woman, her spirit grew as well, and the confinement of the castle seemed to bear her down. She roamed freely inside his walls, protected by his power, but after a while, it wasn’t enough anymore.

“Please, father, may I leave the castle and explore what’s beyond the walls?” she asked him, after placing a dead weasel on his desk before him. Durza picked it up at its tail and frowned at the bloodstain it left on the scroll he’d been reading.

“Where did you get that?”

Belle squeezed into the chair beside him - only possible because he was slightly built and his chair was meant to impose - and perched on the armrest. “In the falconry.”

So, up the highest tower. “Well, it certainly had no business there. But neither had you.”

“It’s only dangerous if you climb out of the window and onto the roof.”

Durza only cared for her safety because she was valuable as a dragon, at least he told himself that, because he was a Shade and cared for nothing but pain and cruelty, but the tightness gnawing at his chest came dangerously close to fear now, for her innocent face was transparent as glass and didn’t fool him for a second. She was unable to lie to him, and he didn’t need torture to coax the truth from her every single time. “And did you climb onto the roof, my treasure?”

She averted her eyes, a child caught at being naughty, and darkness swept over her features. “I wanted to see what’s beyond the walls. Do you know that there is a wide land beyond, mountains and rivers, and woods? I’ve never been to the woods, father!”

“You don’t need to see the land beyond the walls. It’s dangerous there, and someone could snatch you away.”

“Why would they do that?” Now that she was older, she was like a dog with a bone when she had set her mind on something.

“Because you are my treasure, of course.”

“So it’s not because they want anything from me. They want to hurt you, and if no one knows I am your daughter, no one would even think about taking me away.”

Durza narrowed his eyes, and his lips twitched with impatience. He reached up, cupping her chin, and although his nails never blemished her skin, they were sharp enough to dig into the softness of her cheek and hold her still. “And do you not love me, that you don’t care for those who want to hurt me? Are you so careless towards me?”

“Of course I love you, father! But if no one would ever find out…”

“Quiet now!” Durza tightened his grip for a moment, pulling her little face closer. “You are not leaving this castle, do you understand? I won’t lose you. I can give you whatever you desire, just name it, and I have my Urgals bring it for you. But you are not to go.”

When he let go, Belle’s eyes shone bright with tears, but she didn’t protest anymore. He expected that to be the last of it - after all, his word was the law inside these walls.

Durza didn’t see anything of Belle for quite a while after that. He suspected that she hid out up in the rafters - however she got up there - or in her chamber, which was a portion of his own chambers, in fact, because he liked to have her close even in his sleep, always anxious his treasure might be taken from him. But he found her bed empty when he looked after her late at night. Durza didn’t need a lot of sleep, but Belle usually did, as if her rapid growth and her explorations of his castle exhausted her so much that she had to recover from it by spending hours upon hours asleep in the nest she made of shimmering lengths of silk and taffeta.

Durza searched for her in all her favorite places, but when he came up empty, he sent his Urgals to turn up every rock in his castle. Still, she was gone.

He found her using the eyes of one of his falcons, letting the bird circle the sky until he spotted a shadow moving towards the woods. Durza materialized in her path, so sudden that it drew a cry from her lips and left her no chance to avoid bumping into him. Durza closed his claws around her arm and held her so tightly that his nails dug deep into her flesh, and she whimpered, a sound of utter panic.

“You disobeyed,” he snarled. Belle stopped struggling at the sound of his voice, going limp in his grip.

“Father… I thought…”

“You weren’t thinking at all! I forbade you leaving the castle.”

“I just wanted to see the outside once! I would have come back!” She raised her voice, as if he was more likely to listen to her if she yelled at him. Durza had to force himself not to twist her arm and force her to her knees, punishing her with agonizing pain - her skin might be impermeable to his magic, but her bones and flesh were not immune to brute force - but even through his rage, he understood that his cruelty would likely get him nothing. Instead, he transported them back into the castle through thick, pungent magic, letting go of her as soon as they materialized inside his chambers. Belle coughed and gasped and doubled over.

“Tell me, what were my words?” he hissed, when the coughing subsided and the girl had collected herself and stared at him out of gleaming eyes.

“I’m not allowed to go outside.”

“My exact words, treasure.”

“ _You are not to go_.” She recited his words hoarsely, after a short hesitation.

“So what were you doing?”

Belle shrank under his sharp tone, fully child again, and her bottom lip trembled. “I just wanted…”

Durza cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Quiet. I told you, I cannot lose you!” Taking a deep breath, he tried quelling the rage tearing at his insides. He had to keep her from disappearing again, for next time, she might actually get far enough away that he would be unable to find her again, and then his dragon, and with it all his hopes of freedom and independence from his very own slave master, would shatter, gone like the wind. He couldn’t have that happen. He clasped her thin arm again and pulled her with him. She had to run to keep up with his long strides, and she almost stumbled when he pulled her down stairway for stairway, until he reached the dungeons deep below the castle.

“Please, Father, I would have come back, I swear…” She was pleading now, sounding desperate as he pulled her into a wide vault.

“If you had made it, yes. But what if someone had taken you before you could come back? I would have been devastated. So, this is on you, Belle. I cannot allow you to leave me. You are mine!” With a flick of his wrist, he moved long, heavy chains that were fastened to the walls, and clicked the irons shut around her tiny wrists. “You are not going to leave again.”

“No! Father…” The fear in her voice almost swayed him, but Durza stifled that notion instantly. Not even the tears running down her cheeks moved him to show mercy. She was his most valuable possession, and he would never allow her to leave his side again. She pulled at the shackles holding her wrists, but they were fastened with magic and didn’t budge. The air around her crackled, and he held his breath, grew still as stone, hoping she would finally turn into a dragon, but in the blink of an eye, the shimmer about her was gone again and she looked just like an ordinary girl again.

Durza grasped her chin once more, forced her to meet his gaze, although he was almost sickened by her guileless eyes. A shade like him only ever meant ruin for something as pure as she, and it struck something like regret in him to be the one to corrupt and destroy her. He smothered that unwanted feeling as well. “I. Cannot. Lose. You.”

Belle didn’t protest again. A large, glistening tear rolled down her cheek, and Durza bent down and kissed it away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dub con in this chapter, and emotional manipulation.

The chains were so heavy that after a while, Belle had to sit down on the ground and rest her hands on the floor. They were long enough for her to move about the room, but too strong to pull them out of the wall - and she had tried, after her father left her. She had put one foot against the wall, wrapped the chain around her arm and pulled, but the iron ring fasten to the wall hadn’t even crunched. 

The floor was uncomfortable, but after a while, she was too tired to care, and rolled into a ball to sleep. That’s what she got for wanting to see the world. Her father’s castle had long become too small and boring, and when she sneaked out and crossed the planes between her home and the woods, she could breathe freely for the first time since… well, she couldn’t remember. Time was still a concept she struggled with. Because of that, she didn’t know how long she’d actually been chained to the wall in the dungeon when she heard something shuffling on the stone floor beyond the arch that opened into her vault. The torches on the walls never went out, courtesy of her father’s magic, but between the flickering light was enough room for shadows to creep up on her. Belle held her breath when the shuffling sound subsided and stared into the darkness beyond the vault. 

“Belle?” It was Loes, calling her with a thin, trembling voice. Belle scrambled back to sitting.

“I’m here. Come into the light!”

Loes entered the vault carefully, flicking her eyes to the corners before she hurried over and dropped to her knees at Belle’s side, spilling bread and fruit into her lap. “There, I saved some for you,” she whispered, concentrating more on the darkness behind her than on Belle.

“Father is not going to starve me, Loes.”

“How do you know? Chaining a child to the wall in a dungeon, that’s no way to treat your daughter!”

“If I had listened and stayed put, I’d still be free.” She chose a tiny apple from the food in her lap and bit into it. It was so sour that it pulled at her teeth, but Belle liked that. She liked raw meat better, but Loes never brought her anything really edible. 

“Children are bound to leave the nest, and look how much you’ve grown. He can’t keep you down here forever.” Loes brushed loose strands of hair from Belle’s face and urged her to bite into a chunk of flat bread. Belle did it to appease her, even though she hated the taste of bread. 

“I disobeyed. Tomorrow he will let me out of here again, because I will tell him that I’ve learned my lesson and will never leave him.” 

“Oh child.” Shaking her head, Loes picked at Belle’s tunic, making sure it was properly closed at the front. “Does he not worry what the Urgals could do to you down here?” 

“He doesn’t need to. They’re afraid of him.”

“And you should be, too. When even these grisly beasts fear him, shouldn’t you, too?” 

Belle giggled, tossing another tiny apple into the air and catching it again before she stuffed it into her mouth as a whole. “Father loves me. He would never do anything to hurt me!” she said through munched apple. 

“And yet, here you are, in the dungeon. Chained to a wall, without even a bed of straw. I could bring you some of your bedding…”

“Stay away from my bed!” 

Loes flinched when she snapped at her like that, but Belle could have no one come near her bed, where all her treasures lay hidden beneath her mattress. In fact, she missed her gems and jewels, especially those her father had given her, more than she missed her soft bedding. When she raised her chin and stared Loes down, the woman gave in. She scooted to the wall and sat down at Belle’s side, stretching out her legs and pulling Belle into her arms. Belle rested her cheek on Loes’ soft chest and after a while, she drifted off to sleep.

Her father did not let her out of the dungeon the next day, nor the day after that, or any other following day. He brought her a bed, though, so she didn’t have to sleep on the floor anymore. At first, Belle still understood that this was her punishment for running away, but after a while, when the days seemed to have lasted for years, and she thirsted for light and air and the hunt (for the rats knew better by now than to come into the room her chains allowed her to move), she grew impatient and restless. 

“Please Father, I promise, I won’t run away, but please let me out of here!” 

Her father never gave in, though. “I cannot trust you anymore, duckling.”

It pained Belle a great deal that she should have lost her father’s trust so easily, with just one impetuous decision, just because she stepped out of his castle once. She had known, once, that she wasn’t a slave dragon - if she was a dragon at all, of which she wasn’t so sure anymore - but the chains and the confinement made her more and more feel like one, even though her father brought her the softest cushions, precious fabrics to clothe herself, even a bathtub made of copper. She missed nothing but light and air and freedom. The shackles around her wrists never grew too tight, but maybe that had less to do with her father’s ability to control anything but her through his magic and more with the fact that she wasn’t growing as much anymore. Her bones became harder, and the softness of youth wore off, but she was still tiny. And although the shackles never were too tight, they weren’t loose either, and sometimes, when she moved a lot or spent hours pulling at them, her skin was rubbed raw beneath the iron, and under her skin, she shimmered green and blue, like there was a second skin under her first, scaled and hard and glittering. 

For Belle, most things simply existed, they were without good or bad implications. She didn’t consider her own behavior bad, not when she hunted and killed little creatures, nor when she took glittering things that had caught her eyes, and not even when she sneaked out into the night after promising her father not to do that very thing. His reaction to her broken promise was the first indication she had that not all things were good, and some things even were bad, and it was the painfullest lesson of her life to date. More than being chained up and robbed of her freedom hurt her father’s disappointment, and the loss of his trust. Yet, despite she spent her days free of considerations of good and bad, she was sure it was better to hide her strange new skin from prying eyes. It wasn’t something she needed to be ashamed of, for Belle knew very little shame; rather, it was something she needed to protect. Her father would be proud and happy if she turned into a dragon, she was sure of that, but what if he took further measures then, to make sure she couldn’t leave their lair? She already lost his trust once, how would she convince him that she didn’t plan on turning  on him, but rather  for him? Because, if she turned into a dragon for him, he would love her again, right?

Despite her skin changing beneath the irons, despite being born with the knowledge of the dragon inside her, though, she was still unable to access it. She had tried, when her acceptance of this punishment had worn off after a few days and the chains, drenched in her father’s magic, became unbearable to her, weighing on her spirit like the water of a dark and murky bog that slowly pulled her under. She tried to change into a dragon to free herself, and she cried bitter tears when it didn’t work, clinging to Loes and weeping against her soft bosom. Shadows kept seeping into her mind, dirtying her like the fine layer of sooty smoke that clung to everything down in the dungeon, given off from torches and fires and tallow candles. 

Belle made frequent use of the copper tub. It was propped over a hearth, allowing the water to be heated with coal or glowing embers underneath. Loes always muttered that no sane person should sit in a giant soup pot with all those hungry Urgals sneaking around, but Belle just grinned. Secretly, Loes was glad she didn’t have to haul bucket over bucket of boiling water down into the dungeon, scalding her skin on top of the stairs but never quite warm enough for Belle when she arrived downstairs. Belle still complained that the water was too cold when it left Loes’ hands scalded and red like boiled meat, and she could spend hours in the tub, with the fire stoked so high that the flames licked at the bottom of it. Another dragon thing, she supposed. No matter how hot the water, though, she never got quite rid of the soot clogging her skin, and no matter how much she scrubbed, she still felt dirty. 

“You’re going to rub away your skin,” Loes said one day, and Belle tossed her crumbling sponge into the water, causing it to splash over the edge. Loes leapt back. 

“I need something… scrubbier… to get rid of the dirt.”

“But if you keep scrubbing, you will scrub away all that pretty pink skin, and the Durza will see what’s under that skin…” Loes trailed off, paling, probably because she had said her father’s name, and was possessed by the fear he could hear his name spoken everywhere, no matter how far away he was. Apparently she was right, and Belle flinched when her father’s voice swept through the room like a cool breeze. 

“And what is Durza not supposed to see, I ask?” 

Belle turned to peek over her shoulder. Her father stood only a few feet away from her tub, a shadow of pale black and blood red. Belle got a little breathless each time he appeared, prickling with a wave of joy surging up between her ribs and a little nauseous with the taste of his magic polluting the air around him. 

Loes shrank, shuffling away, and Belle rolled her eyes. “I have no idea what she’s talking about!” she said, leaning back in the tub again, clasping her knees that looked like two pale mountains above the sea. Her father stepped to the side of the tub and frowned down at her. 

“Are you lying to me again, treasure?”

That brought her up short, and water swashed over the brim of her tub when she sat up straight. “No.” It scared her that he would think something like that, because it spoke of how thoroughly his trust in her was shattered. Yet, while she spoke that single syllable, she knew that it wasn’t quite the truth, and she let the weight of the shackles drag her wrists down from her knees to the bottom of the tub. The chains clinked as they slithered down at her sides, and she grimaced over the conspicuousness of it. Her father tilted his head.

“What is under that skin, wench?” he asked, softly, waving Loes closer. He never used her name, and Belle wondered if he ever made the effort of remembering it. There was no bigger insult than not even bothering to remember someone’s name, for she had learned that her father valued the power that came with the name of a thing. Grateful that her name was safe with him - he had promised, after all, and his promises weren’t as fickle as hers - Belle watched as Loes drew closer, uneasiness plain on her face, and fear in her bated breath. Belle found that to be undue. There wasn’t a man more patient and reliable than her father. 

“Flesh, my Lord… I just wanted her to be more careful is all.” Loes’ voice was almost inaudible over the crackling of the fire under the tub, but even the fire seemed to hold its breath when her father stared Loes down, waiting for her to break and tell him the truth. Belle knew she would break, eventually. The woman’s fear of Durza the Shade was just too big. 

“I think I need fresh towels, Loes. Fetch them for me?” 

Loes faltered, as if Belle’s request let the air out of her, and she nodded and hurried from the vault. Belle knew she wouldn’t come back as long as her father was still there. His eyes followed the woman all the way out of the room before he turned them back to Belle. Under his dark gaze, she shrank a little, pulling her knees up higher and crossing her arms under her thighs, as if she needed to hold herself together. Her father frowned.

“Do you fear me?” he asked. Belle wondered if his tone hinted at more than just mild interest in her answer.

“No, of course not. You’re my father.”

“I did lock you up, though. Chain you to the wall.” 

Belle clasped the shackles around her wrists as if she needed a physical reminder of the fact. “But I made you do that, so it’s not really your fault.”

“You are a curious creature.” 

Belle didn’t exactly like his tone, nor did she like being called a creature when she knew she was his daughter, his treasure, his duckling, but maybe he just was in a curious mood. His eyes lingered certainly longer on her than they had in a long time, and after a while, Belle looked down at herself and wondered what was so curious about her. She’d grown heavier since she was locked up, fuller in certain places, and maybe her father just noted the changes. Her body resembled Loes’ now, in a way, though she was smaller and leaner than her wet nurse. But her hips were fuller now, and her breasts, though much smaller than Loes’, were heavier, too. The dark tips of her breasts peeked out of the water, and maybe it was the coldness that always followed her father that had them pebbled despite the heat of her bath. 

“Let me see if your irons still fit. I don’t want you to suffer.” Her father waved his hand before Belle could react, and her hands were pulled out of the water by the chains that bent to her father’s will like something living. She couldn’t resist, and she swallowed and bit her lip when his fingers, long and knotty like spider legs, closed around her shackles, his nails ticking against the iron. Unable to look at him and meet his eyes, Belle fixed her gaze on her wrists instead, hoping he wouldn’t noticed the places where her skin had chafed and exposed the shimmering scales underneath, like plated jewelry that had been worn so long and so often that the bare bones shone through the gold. 

Her hope was in vain, though. Her father trailed one long, black nail across one shackled wrist, as slow as if he was counting scales. It was almost a caress, and something tight and dark slithered through her veins and coiled around her heart.

“Why would you hide that from me?” he asked, and although his voice was soft, she sensed the steel underneath. 

“I didn’t want you to think I would want to leave you when I become a dragon.” 

“And would you? Leave me?”

“No!” The answer was out quicker than she could think it, and it was only after her exclamation that she thought she couldn’t be sure of that. If her father’s fortress was already small to a girl like she was now, how much smaller would it be to a dragon? He must have seen her reservations, because he bared his teeth in a smile that was anything but gentle and kind. 

“You see, treasure, these chains… they’re indestructible, forged with magic, and I am the only one able to free you. Maybe you weren’t born a slave dragon, but if you’d try to leave me, I would make you one. I could put another iron ring around your neck and keep you in this vault forever.” He reached for her and put his hand around her throat, tenderly now, but when he pulled it back, there was cold iron where his hand had been, and a chain forming out of thin air and slithering down her body, heavy and clinking and cold even in the heat of the water. 

“I wouldn’t leave you, I promise,” Belle whispered, but she could see that he didn’t believe her. Not for a second. 

He stepped back, away from the tub, and flicked his wrist, wielding his dark magic, and Belle gasped in shock when the chains hauled her out of her tub and tossed her at his feet. Her father was as cold now as if he’d already stopped loving her. Belle had never been so small, so alone and desperate as then, and she threw her arms around his legs and clung to him, as if she could show him the truth of her words by just holding on tight enough. If only she had never run away. 

“Please, you have to believe me, I would never leave you!” She sobbed quietly, and it took her a moment until she recognized his touch, a soft hand on her shoulder, another on her head, stroking her gently. 

“I’m glad to hear that, treasure.” He cupped her cheek and made her look up, and this time, his smile was almost believable. “Do you want me to give you back your treasures? Your hoard?”

At his words, sudden greed flared up, mingled with fear. All her gems and jewels, in danger of being taken from her. “You found it?”

“Did you think beneath your mattress is a good hiding place for them? I will give them back to you, for this skin needs to be bedecked in jewelry fit for a dragon.” He untangled himself from her and stepped back. Her chains rattled to the floor, and the unaccustomed weight of the chain on her neck pulled her down for a moment. Her father moved his fingers like he was weaving in the air, and the chain lengthened, forming out of black smoke, until it was long enough to be strung twice around the room. He fastened the end to a heavy ring on the floor in the middle of the vault. “I’m going to bring you your other jewelry,” he said, before disappearing in a cloud of shadows. 

Belle still knelt on the floor when Loes came back, much later, and she was still naked. Her father hadn’t come back with her treasures. The woman halted when she saw the new chain, kneading her ragged skirts and looking back to the open doorway through which she’d come. 

“What happened here?” she asked, taking a small step towards Belle and pausing again.

“My father gave me another necklace. One fit for a dragon.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Loes took another step back, and Belle pushed herself up. She had to lift the chain dangling from her neck iron and carry it to be able to stand, for it was so heavy that it always pulled her down. When she stood, Loes retreated even more. 

“He’s just afraid I might leave him if I become a dragon…” 

“Will you become a dragon?” Loes’ voice was thin and high-pitched. 

Somehow, Belle was close to tears all of a sudden, and she let go of her bundle of chains and flopped to the ground again. “I don’t know…” She shuddered, and finally Loes came to her side, throwing a towel across her shoulders and wrapping her tightly. 

“Well there had to be something wrong with you, right? No normal child grows that fast, or kills with that much joy. Or has… that.” Loes pointed to her wrists, to the blue-green shimmer, and scrunched up her nose. “I thought you’re just some water being like you hear in the legends, but of course the Shade wouldn’t bother with you then. I should have known right away when you chewed on my flesh what kind of monster you are.” 

Belle stared at her wet nurse without comprehending a word. There had to be some misunderstanding, right? Surely Loes didn’t think she was a monster? “I’m a dragon,” she whispered. “But my father loves me not just because of that…”

“I’m sure he does. Now hush, get dressed. Cover up that ugly skin.” 

Belle was numb when she slipped into the tunic Loes handed her, and it had to be because she’d been naked on the floor for so long. Maybe it was the added weight and coldness of the iron ring around her throat, and the chain coiling from it, for Belle never used to feel cold before. But she wasn’t hungry, either, and when she curled up in her bed, the sound of Loes’ breathing - and, from time to time, sniffing - kept her awake for hours. It was hardly louder than the crackle of torches and the occasional loud crack of embers in the fire, and yet it was making it impossible for Belle to drift off. She tossed and turned for the longest time, until she finally couldn’t bear it any longer. She wanted to be alone. 

The chains clanked to the floor when she slipped out of bed, and rattled along behind her as she dragged herself over to the bed of straw where Loes slept. Belle crouched down to shake the woman awake. When she clasped Loes’ arm, though, and gently shook her, Loes jolted awake with a shrill scream. She scrambled back, against the wall, staring at Belle like she was seeing a wild animal before her.

“Go away!” Loes whimpered. Belle let go of her arm.

“I just wanted to wake you and tell  you to leave.”

Loes’ eyes cleared, and her breathing slowed. It was as if she recognized Belle only now. “Yes… yes. I was… I had a dream.” Loes was stammering, and she flinched when Belle reached for her arm again. Belle didn’t touch her again. She just waited while Loes struggled to her feet and patted down her skirts. 

When she was alone, sleep still evaded her. The vault pressed in on her, its cavernous depth suffocating her, the chains strangling her, coiling tighter with her every move. Belle found herself sobbing into the bedding. She had long lost any sense of time, was unable to count days, or even say what time of the day it was - her dungeon was always ringing with the same silence, and the light never changed. It just kept flickering, the flames of the torches painting shadows on the wall and chasing them round and round. The thought of spending the rest of her life chained to these always same walls, all alone except for rats and spiders, and occasionally Loes, bored into her skin with hooked little feet and ate away at her. Belle lay on her bed and stared into the emptiness before her.

She couldn’t say how long she lay like that when her father materialized beside her bed, forming out of shadows and smoke. His appearance was accompanied by a tangy heaviness in the air, a condensing of the room around her that prickled on her skin and made it hard to breathe. 

“You’re awake,” he observed, as if it came as a surprise and he hadn’t expected it. 

“I cannot sleep. I’m so alone…”

Her father looked around, searching the dark corners of the vault with narrowed eyes, before he looked back at her.

“Where’s the wench?”

“I sent her away. She was… scared.”

He raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t ask, and Belle was glad for it. She wouldn’t know what to say if he asked her what scared Loes, but he probably didn’t care anyway. “Did you bring my treasures?” she inquired, anxious that he might have forgotten his promise, because he came empty handed. 

“I will give you your baubles, fret not. But I came to tell you a story.”

Belle pushed herself up into a sitting position, hoping her father would sit down on her bed so she could climb into his lap, but he didn’t move, observing her with a stillness that made her very self-conscious. “Is it a goodnight story to help me sleep?”

“No.” He looked at her with unblinking eyes, as if he was waiting for something, expecting something she didn’t comprehend. Belle pulled her knees up and tucked them under her chin, and swallowed so heavily that the iron collar around her throat grew as tight as a noose. “I read about a dragon in a faraway land, the land where you came from, where dragons are different from the ones we knew here.”

“A dragon like me?”

Her father didn’t answer at once. Eventually, though, he nodded. “A dragon like you. A woman, who loved a Prince. Loved him so much that she turned into a dragon…” He paused, but his sentence wasn’t finished. Belle licked her lips, and pressed her mouth to her knees when her father’s gaze trailed down from her eyes, down to her lips and her tongue before she hid them away. “Do you love me, my treasure?” he asked, and his hoarse voice sent a shiver down her spine. 

“Of course I do. I’ve always loved you, Father. Don’t you love me?”

“Not like a father, no. You know that I’m not your father, don’t you?” 

Something squeezed Belle’s ribcage, and her throat, her lungs and belly, something sharp and big and too ugly to understand. “But you do love me? Please?” 

“Yes. I do love you. You’re mine, my treasure, and I love you. I love you like a friend. Like a lover. Like a master.” 

Belle wasn’t sure if that was enough for her to feel safe. She had known, in a way, that he wasn’t her father, but he had been her world from the moment on she first opened her eyes, and without him, she would be utterly alone. 

“I don’t know this kind of love…” She swallowed the ‘father’, the name she’d always called him, because he no longer was her father now. And when he no longer was her father, it meant that she no longer was a child. 

Now he stepped closer and reached for her, cupping her chin, as if he was afraid she would look away if he didn’t make her look at him. The pressure of his touch, or maybe the invisible pull on the chain on her collar, made her sit up straighter, and when the pull didn’t lessen, she scrambled to her feet, slipping out of bed and facing him. 

“I can show you this… my love, Belle. I would be gentle, I would make you yearn for it…” Her name turned into another bind on his lips, like a rope slithering around her and tying her to him.

“How?”

He caressed her cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting its length slide through his fingers with such tenderness that Belle’s heart syncopated and was pulled towards him. He still was her world. 

“I would kiss you like a lover. I would put my mouth over yours and caress your lips with mine, and I would kiss your throat and every inch of your skin down to the tip of your breasts. I would put my mouth on your breasts and lick and suck them until you whimpered and moaned.” His words were calm, determined, and they tugged at her insides like clever fingers pulling strings, weaving a tight net to wrap her up in it. His gaze locked her in place, kept her tied to him, unable to move.

“I would kiss your breasts until your knees would buckle and you have to hold on to me because you’re turning weak and soft inside. I would brush my fingertips from your ribcage down, over your stomach, down, and I would kiss your belly until a fire blazes inside you. I would kneel before you and put my mouth on your flesh, onto the mound between your legs, and I would lick and suck and kiss you until you scream my name and beg me to mount you and make you mine like a wolf takes a mate, like a stallion mounts a mare, until you beg me to fill you with myself, until you beg me to be mine.” 

Belle’s breath quickened, while every word he spoke became a caress, a touch, a command, so intimate as if he was scraping his teeth across her skin. He leant closer, so close that his long hair fell forward and tickled her cheek, soft like a breeze, or smoke, when he rasped into her ear. 

“This is how I would love you, Belle.”

The way he whispered her name sent a shiver down her chest and tightened her skin. Gooseflesh erupted, spreading from her breastbone, and her tunic tickled against the hard tips of her breasts like the touch of feathers. “Show me your kind of love,” she breathed, and whimpered when he put the sharp tip of a black nail to her chin and tilted her face up. 

“As you wish.” He held her gaze captive in his, didn’t allow her to close her eyes as he trailed his nail down her throat. It clicked when he drew it across the iron collar, and he lifted the chain up that hung down from the ring at it’s center, holding it as much out of the way as he was holding her in place with it as he trailed his nail down her front, following her breastbone, down between her breasts, her stomach, and further down. Under his nail, her tunic sliced open and bared her skin, her trembling belly. He pushed the rags aside with his fingertips, with hardly a touch, laying her bare to his eyes. Despite Belle had been naked in his presence only hours before, after her bath, she felt exposed now, conscious of the way her skin puckered and her nipples pebbled with the prospect of his mouth on her. All she wanted was to be loved, and if this was his way, then so be it. 

Her tunic had open sleeves that were tied together to make it easier to dress with the shackles and chains dangling from her wrists, and Durza plucked at the ribbons keeping the sleeves closed. The fabric slid to the floor, leaving Belle completely naked at last. When his eyes swept down from her face, leisurely following the path his nail had taken, lingering on the tips of her breasts, Belle shivered, and hugged herself to cover up. He clicked his tongue, chiding her for her poor efforts, and waved his hand, wielding his invisible magic. The chains fastened to her wrists tightened, pulled her hands away from her, up, above her head, unaffected by Belle’s struggle to keep herself covered. 

“Please…” she stammered, pulled up onto the tips of her toes by the unyielding chains.

“Stop fighting it, Belle. I want to see you. I can’t kiss you if you don’t let me, right?”

He was right, of course, and Belle felt silly. She had never before cared about covering up - it had never seemed necessary, and she only did it because he took pleasure in clothing himself in precious garments and she wanted to please him. Now it pleased him to see her naked. So she nodded, and stopped resisting the pull of the chains. They let up, and the soles of her feet made contact with the floor again. 

“You’re beautiful, my treasure… All trembling fear and quivering anticipation…” He brushed from her collarbones down to the tip of her breast, and Belle sucked in air. She hadn’t known yet that a touch there could feel like this, so sweet and aching and tickling inside her. He cupped her breast and sought her eyes again. “Are you afraid?”

“No.” She thought she wasn’t, even though the novelty of this, and the sudden change in their relationship left her somehow askew, as if the floor beneath her constantly tilted to the left. 

“So brave, my love… that calls for a reward.” He pulled his hand from her flesh, waved it, and pulled shimmering gold out of thin air. It was a necklace, ornate with rows and rows of stones set in gold, and need flared up inside Belle at the sight of it, hunger at the merry clinking sound, the astringent smell of metal. She held her breath when he opened it and placed it around her throat, below the iron collar and under the heavy chain. He took care to adjust every stone until the necklace formed a glittering triangle on her chest, with its tip dangling between her breasts. Her skin warmed where it was touched by gold, and Belle welcomed the weight of her heavy jewelry like a kiss. 

Durza kept spinning gold out of thin air, weaving delicate chains with pendants of rubies and garnets that looked like drops of blood against her skin. He connected the golden strands with the tip of the necklace, leading them down across her stomach and closing it around her belly, and with every chain he threaded around her, her skin grew tighter, warmer, needier. 

“There,” he rasped, plucking her nipples. Belle arched into his touch, and keened when he bent down and closed his mouth around one nipple, wet and hot, when he sucked and licked and his tongue felt like flames dancing across her skin. Belle needed more, needed a firmer touch than this, wanted more gold and gems and kisses, and she whimpered when he pulled back and tweaked her nipple again. He pulled a delicate golden ring out of the air, with a pendant dangling from it, and he placed it around her nipple and circled his pointer finger around it, causing the ring to shrink and tighten until it clamped her nipple almost painfully. Belle gasped when he let the pendant glide through his fingers and it turned heavier, bigger, and another chain appeared, ending in another ring just like the first. Durza smiled as he showed her the second ring, raised his eyebrows, and Belle moaned when he bent down to treat her second nipple just like the first, kissing and licking until it hardened before he fastened the ring with its pendant on it. 

“So beautiful, covered in jewels and gold,” he murmured, pulling at the chain between her nipples until it became almost too much. And yet it was too little. Belle wanted more. 

Just then, Durza stepped back, and the loss of his closeness made her whimper. She couldn’t look away when he opened his long vest and shed it, revealing the long sleeved shirt and pants underneath. He took off his dark clothes piece after piece, revealing more and more of his pale, scarred skin, and Belle was intimidated by the raw vulnerability of his flesh. He looked so ordinary without the adornment of his garments, but even so, there was something commanding in his bearing. Belle took in the thick scars covering his chest, his stomach, like the ones on his face, strange symbols speaking of sinister magic, but the scars weren’t as imposing as the part of his body jutting out from between his legs, thick and hard and virile. 

Belle was no stranger to this part of male anatomy - after all, she was very skilled at sneaking about the fortress like a cat, and the Urgals were anything but coy. Belle knew how this kind of love worked. There was hardly avoiding it, living in a castle where privacy was something reserved for a selected few, and everyone else didn’t exactly bother. She knew the sounds, she knew the mechanics, as innocent as she was - it was just a part of life, not really something extraordinary, as natural as eating and drinking. Despite all that, she wasn’t prepared for the sight of his… thing, big and erect like that. She wasn’t prepared for what it did to her. Her knees threatened to give out under her, and she had to grab the chains that bound her wrists to hold herself up. Durza closed the gap between them with one smooth step and sank to his knees before her.

She knew what he was about to do, and yet she gasped when his lips met her fluttering stomach and he kissed her. Like he had foretold, his mouth stoked the fire inside her, kindled the heat and tightened her skin until it was almost impossible to breathe. He clasped her hips and held her still as he scraped his teeth from her navel down, and Belle sobbed quietly when he pressed his lips to the nest of curls between her thighs. 

Belle arched and fought to get closer to his mouth, even though his touch tilted her world and turned her inside out. When he pressed his face to her flesh, it was as if he was cleaving her apart with his tongue, opening her and plucking her apart like ripe fruit. He sucked on her and it was as if he was sucking all the heat inside her towards her center, to pool between her bones and glow like embers. She was shaking all over, crying out when Durza reached up and flicked his nails against the pendants dangling from her nipples. It wasn’t pain he gave her, rather a tightening and pulling inside her, a coiling of tension that would shatter her to pieces if he didn’t give her something to hold on to. Belle convulsed, arched, rolled her hips against his tongue and the blackness it inflicted, and every muscle in her body tensed, short of breaking, when all of a sudden, Durza pulled back, leaving her sobbing and begging and unable to form coherent words. 

“Please, I need…” She didn’t know what she needed, so she trailed off, looking down at him, hoping he knew what she meant. 

“I know, Belle. You need me to fuck you, don’t you?” 

She felt his touch between her legs, his sharp nails grazing her flesh. It was close to painful, yet dizzying at the same time, keeping her close to the peak she craved to reach. 

“You’re dripping wet, treasure. Tell me, do you want me to fuck you?” 

“I want you to love me.”

Durza sneered up at her, and Belle felt silly. “That’s one and the same, my precious. Fucking or making love, there’s no difference.” 

Belle bit her lip, not so sure that there wasn’t a difference, but he wouldn’t lie to her, would he? After all, he loved her, and he had given her back her treasures like he’d promised. “Then fuck me,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Brave girl. That deserves another reward, doesn’t it?” He curled his fingers, and when he opened his hand again, there was another ornate clasp on his palm, adorned with pearls and a single, large garnet. Belle had never seen anything like it, and she had no idea how it was supposed to close. She found out, though, when Durza nudged her legs apart, forcing her to go up on tip-toes, and parted her folds. He placed the clasp around the little nub of flesh there, closing it gently so the garnet rested against her. It added to the pull inside her, made it hard to breathe because of the intensity and tightness, but Belle relished the feeling of gold and precious stones against her skin, even more so when Durza weaved another thin gold chain between his fingertips and connected the clasp to the gold chain around her waist. 

“You’re beautiful,” he praised, coming up to his feet and stepping so close that Belle could feel his shaft hot against her stomach. Durza cupped her face, cradled it, and lowered his lips onto hers, kissing her for the first time, without closing his eyes. Belle tasted herself in his kiss, but there was also something murky, suffocating, a faint taste of ash and cinder. Without breaking the kiss or giving her room to breathe, he grabbed her with both hands around her bottom and lifted her up, pulling her close. Belle wrapped her legs around him, utterly at his mercy while he lowered her down onto his flesh to impale her. There was no where for her to go but down, while his thick cock pressed into her, slowly, until he filled her so deeply that she sobbed, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar feeling of being stretched and owned like that. There was a wild look in his eyes when he broke his kiss, feral, like a beast ready to tear into her. Holding her up with one arm wrapped tightly around her back, he fumbled for something between their bodies, grabbing the chain that hung from her nipples and holding on to it as he started to thrust up, pushing mercilessly into her. Between their bodies, Belle felt the garnet from the clasp between her legs pressing against her, felt the pull on her nipples, felt him slick with sweat moving against her, until her sensations mingled all into one single vortex of heat and darkness that hauled her over the edge. She fell into nothingness, panting and sobbing, while Durza tensed, groaning, and blackness rolled up inside her when he filled her with his shadows. 

Suddenly the chains that held her up fell down, clanking to the floor, and Belle threw her arms around his neck to keep from falling, too. Durza held her tightly, carried her to her bed while their bodies were still joined, and tossed her onto her back. He covered her with his body, kneeling between her legs, and Belle held on to him with all her strength. This felt more like love than anything before, and she refused to let go of it. It wasn’t even uncomfortable, despite the gold and jewels pressed into her skin by Durza’s weight on her, despite the jewelry he had created to adorn her nipples and her sex still tweaking her sensitive parts. The only thing slightly unpleasant were the waves of a faint nausea rolling up from her core and rippling through her. It had to be Durza’s darkness, the essence of his being, the shadows that painted his very blood and every other thing inside him black, that now clawed its way into her. 

Belle groaned, and Durza lifted his weight off her, pushed up onto his elbows and eyed her face as if he was looking for something. Maybe signs of discomfort, but maybe something else. He reached down and wriggled a hand between their bodies, between her legs. When he pulled it back again and brought it up, it was stained with a dark wetness. With a smile, he smeared it across her lips, and bent down to lick it away. It tasted of blood, of soot and grime and gold, and Belle grinded her teeth and pressed her lips into a thin line to avoid swallowing any more of it. She could already feel it between her teeth and sharp on the tip of her tongue, like the poisonous taste of lead. 

“Now you’re really mine. My dragon.”

His words kindled a spark of rebellion deep in her guts. Weren’t his chains and dungeons enough to bind her? Did he need to mark her like this to make her  his dragon ? And was this all just about her as a dragon, not about her as a lover? Was she more to him than just a dragon? 

“I am my own.” She wriggled beneath him, uncomfortable now with his closeness, as if he was asking too much of her, more than she could give. 

“Love means devotion, duckling. Don’t you love me?”

“Of course I do. But that means you’re mine, too, right? Because you said you love me.”

Durza smiled, but his smile danced on the edge of derision, and Belle didn’t like it. “Of course I am yours. And I trust you to treat this with the responsibility it demands.” 

Belle had no idea about the responsibility he meant, and fear clawed at her heart, fluttering painfully inside her chest. What if she failed? Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she pulled him closer again, clinging to him as if that would keep her world steady and safe. Durza rolled to her side and took her with him, their limbs intertwined and their bodies pressed closely to each other. 

“Will you stay with me?” Belle asked, and she couldn’t quite quell the hope in her voice. 

Durza brushed loose strands of hair out of her face, and followed the arch of her brow with the tip of his sharp nail. “Sleep,” he said.

It wasn’t an answer, and Belle dreaded the new day.


	4. Chapter 4

Durza didn’t sleep. He held Belle, watching her chest heave with every breath she took, watching her hair move like it was stroked by invisible fingers, watching out for signs - anything - that she was about to change. But nothing happened, and she mewled in her sleep when he loosened the golden rings he had put around her nipples so the blood-flow wouldn’t cease, and carefully removed the garnet clasp from her sex. The skin on her chest trembled with the rhythm of her heartbeat, but no matter how closely he watched, no new scales started spreading. Her form remained tiny and unchanged in his arms, covered in jewelry and chains like armor. Despite being disappointed over the lack of change, Durza wasn’t eager to leave her bed, or let her out of his arms. She was so small and soft and oddly comfortable to hold, even with the faint prickling everywhere their naked bodies touched. It was a sensation he wasn’t used to. He seldom - if ever - experienced that particular urge, and it came as somewhat of a surprise now, when Belle stirred in his arm, the chains clinked, and his body reacted with a tingling at the base of his spine. Her eyelids fluttered, and even less than for the stirring of lust, he was prepared for the tenderness welling up inside him, an ache between his ribs that wanted to be kissed away. He squashed it mercilessly. He wanted a dragon, not a soft, doe-eyed thing to warm his bed.

A shade had no need for that.

Belle blinked, slowly coming to her senses, and she tensed when she met his unwavering gaze. Durza clasped her wrist without a word and guided her hand down between their bodies, until she met his straining flesh. The touch of her little hand sent a shock of heat through him, and he bucked his hips against her. She wanted to pull back, but Durza held her in place, covering her hand and moving her to rub up and down his length. The manacles on her wrist and the chain weighed down on her arm and slowed her movements. He kept her gaze captured in his, just like he held her hand captive, closed around his prick, with their fingers intertwined.

She wanted to wriggle out of his arm, and Durza allowed her just enough of a retreat so he could grasp the chain from her collar, resting like a cold snake between them, and wrap it around his fist to keep her in place.

“Stay, my treasure. Let me love you.” The word still held its power over her, like a spell, and the white disappeared from her eyes.

“Is that love?” she whispered, closing her tiny hand a little tighter around him, causing his eyes to roll back with the wave of heat surging through him, as if she held tinder to his skin and set his insides ablaze. For a moment, Durza was unable to breathe, almost shocked by the blinding whiteness that radiated from her touch. He gasped for breath and bared his teeth, and Belle twitched. He’d scared her with his intensity, and he tried to force the feral hunger out of his snarl, turn it into a gentle smile to soothe her. But he didn’t let go of her hand, and neither of the chain.

“What else would it be?”

Belle licked her lip, and he watched her struggle for words. When she remained silent, he moved closer, until his lips were close to hers.

“You’re mine, Belle. Mine to hold and mine to command.” He’d marked her the night before, and when he rolled his hips now and directed her hand, he knew that he would mark her again, make her his so thoroughly that she would yearn to serve him and be his dragon. He couldn’t hold back the groan slipping over his lips when he thrust his blunt tip against her palm.

He hadn’t told her the full extent of the story he learned; that the woman turning into a dragon did so out of spurned love, out of hurt and pain and suffering. Making Belle his lover was naught but an overture to his bigger plot. He needed her to be vulnerable, and nothing accomplished that like love did. It was a weapon made to kill. Though, when he looked into her innocent, impressionable eyes, he felt a twinge of guilt. She trusted him so much more than he deserved. Maybe even enough to become his dragon without him hurting her.

“Do you love me, Belle?” he asked, his voice inexplicably hoarse.

“I do.” She said it like a question, though, hesitant and insecure, and Durza pulled her closer, his grip on her hard and adamant out of his sudden fear she would slip through his fingers.

“Show me. Kiss me like a lover. Love me like a lover.”

Belle bit her lip and hid her gleaming eyes. “I don’t know how,” she whispered, trying to hide her face by pressing it against his shoulder. Durza cupped her chin and forced her to look at him.

“Do you remember how I kissed you? And where? Show me that you remember.”

Belle leaned closer, worrying her lip, and Durza’s breath hitched when she placed her lips on his, carefully, and watching him for his reaction. He wasn’t prepared for the shudder grabbing his spine and crawling through him, and he wondered if he would ever be prepared enough for any touch of hers. Was it possible at all, to prepare for the blinding shock of her touches, and the prickle of her soft skin against his? He stilled, waited for her next move while he adjusted to the feeling of her lips on his, and the feeling of her hand still wrapped around his cock. Her kiss tingled, sending biting warmth through him, a warmth so bright that the shadows inside him cringed and raged against it, almost forcing him to retreat. Instead of obeying this painful urge, he opened his mouth, just for a fraction, wondering if Belle would understand the invitation it meant.

Her eyes widened and her breath quickened, and bravely, she slipped her tongue between his lips, just for a moment, licking along his teeth, before she withdrew again. It was enough to melt his insides, enough to send him spinning and yearning for more. He wanted all of her mouth, he wanted her to swallow and gorge on him, and once more he groaned when she braved her inexperience and kissed him again. He couldn’t help but roll his hips and thrust into her hand again, overwhelmed by her touch, and losing his grip on the situation.

Maybe he didn’t need a doe-eyed thing to warm his bed - but why shouldn’t he enjoy it while he had it? Why shouldn’t he drown in her, why not gorge on lust and heat and passion for as long as it lasted?

“Kiss me there,” he rasped, squeezing her hand around his prick to indicate what he meant, and Belle inhaled sharply. She hesitated so long that Durza tightened his grip on the chain from her collar, wrapping it once around his fist before he pulled her down towards his flesh, where all the heat from her touch pooled and stoked a fire between his bones.

“How?” she whispered, her eyes begging him to spare her. She fixed her gaze on his face, not his cock springing up before her, and Durza almost smiled, enjoying how intimidated she was, how shy and attentive. His would be the first - and if he could help it, the only cock ever touching her lips, the only cock to be sucked in, the only cock to choke her, and the knowledge of it made him shiver. The anticipation was almost too much, straining his every nerve until he was so tense that he would surely break the moment those soft, wet lips would touch him.

“Remember how I kissed you? Kiss the tip.” He guided the head of his cock to her lips, felt the pull of her hand when she tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he didn’t allow it. Seeing her face so close to his loins, her mouth so close, so maddeningly close but not yet touching… It turned him feral in his hunger, and for a short, blazing moment, he forgot the dragon, forgot slavery and rage and darkness, and he was reduced to an instinct rooted so deeply in human flesh that even he could feel it still.

Every thought was eradicated by the touch of her lips. It was too much and too little, all at once, not enough to sate his craving, and disappointment battled with triumph when she drew immediately back again.

“Don’t stop… please. Lick it.”

Belle frowned, her teeth worrying her lip, before she followed his order, hesitantly, licking quickly over the tip of his cock. The warmth of her tongue trickled like honey through him, spreading from his pelvis up into his chest. Belle grimaced at the taste and again tried to pull back, but Durza buried his fist in her hair and kept her in place. Her lips were smeared black now. He knew that his inner shadows poisoned every bit of him, rotting him from inside, he knew that every living being inevitably recoiled from the shade, but those shadows also were power (and hadn’t he paid a high price for it?), and seeing the traces of that power smeared across her mouth sent a thrill through him and had him thirst for more, just like the blush blooming on her cheekbones as she licked him again. Her eyes were closed, hidden behind dark lashes, and he could feel her tremble in his grip.

“Belle, my treasure. This is true love’s kiss. There’s no need for you to be ashamed. Look at me.”

Her gleaming eyes met his, her cheeks darkening even more, and Durza loosened his grip at the back of her head and cradled her face. He was the first to have her, the first having her mouth, the first who would come on those lips, and the thought alone rendered him boneless. “Look at me,” he rasped, “and suck me.”

Belle opened her mouth, reluctantly, and Durza didn’t dare to close his eyes when she put her lips around the tip of his shaft and sucked. He didn’t want to miss any of it, wanted to drown in the sensations and commit every second of it to his memory. He wanted the moment to swallow him and he wanted to witness and observe every twitch on her face, every sound she made, wanted to own every breath she took and every thing she tasted. He wanted to own her, inside and out.

Being inside her mouth almost overwhelmed him, and he fisted her hair again and urged her to take him in deeper. Her teeth scraped along his shaft, the pain reminding him of her very own power, her potential - the thought fled him just when her tongue laved the sting of teeth away and pleasure rolled up inside him and devoured everything else. Her mouth was so wet, so warm, consuming him with heat while he lost himself in the blue of her eyes. Too fast it became impossible to hold back, and he held Belle in place with his iron grip as his climax washed through him and he came in her mouth. She wanted to pull back again, choked, sputtered when he released his seed, but he didn’t let go, couldn’t, so tense was his every muscle, and so bright were his insides that for a moment, even the raging shadows inside him fell quiet.

“Keep sucking, my heart, my dragon, please…” he panted, somehow crazed with hope she might devour him and release him, pull him out of the darkness and burn him in bright fire.

Her eyes glistened, but Durza didn’t let go of her until she’d sucked up every last drop of his essence, and his prick was soft and shrunken inside her mouth. Only then did he pull her up again, and pull her into a tight embrace. She hid her face against his chest, and he could feel the heat of her embarrassment warm his own skin.

“Thank you, my darling dragon,” he whispered, and she took a deep, shivering breath.

“Did this please you?” she asked, without looking at him, and her voice was thick.

“Couldn’t you tell? Every touch of yours blinds me, every kiss sparks a fire in my heart.” The words slid smoothly from his tongue, as did the smile when he cupped her chin and made her look at him. “I didn’t know that one could want that much… That the want could be so all-engulfing.”

This, at least, was the truth, and it soothed some of her hurt, for she swallowed, and the bright gleam in her eyes softened.

“But why can’t true love’s kiss be pleasant?” She snuggled tighter into the crook of his arm and pressed her nose to his throat, oblivious to the smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Because love means sacrifice, my sweetling. But I’m sure you’ll learn to love it, come time. Now, how about a little reward? You’ve been such a good, devoted little lover.”

Belle pushed herself up and nodded, eager for any reward he might bestow on her, but he knew that she hoped for gold, for shiny baubles to decorate and warm her, and gold she would get.

“Up with you, then! I want to see you when I adorn you with jewels.”

Belle slipped out of the bed, her jewelry and chains chinking in her haste, and she all but bounced on her toes, brimming with anticipation. Should his words of love ever fail, he could still resolve to dangling gold in front of her, for she was as hungry for it as he was for a dragon. He followed her out of bed a little slower, and he took the time to slip into his robe before turning to Belle, aware that he was torturing her with every moment he made her wait. But drawing it out was half the fun, and he enjoyed how the wait made her suffer. She whimpered when he finally stepped in front of her and pulled the necklace he’d given her the day before into place, spreading it out on her chest. Belle sucked in a sharp breath when he cupped her breasts and dragged his thumbnails over her nipples, so that they hardened and he could fasten the loops that were connected to the choker once more.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and it was true. Durza didn’t much care for beauty, not when he himself was disfigured to anyone’s eyes, but something about Belle and her guileless, trustful gaze made him forget about his own beastly appearance. His praise made her smile, and she trembled when he brushed his palms down her side to cup her hips. The clasp he had fastened to her flesh the night before still dangled from the thin chain around her hips, and Durza took it, curling his fingers around it and transforming it into something else in his grip. Belle shivered when he spun another chain out of thin air, made of pure gold an slightly chunkier and longer than the one already around her hips. It pulled another whimper from her lips when he placed it around her waist, and gooseflesh spread from her stomach, where the gold was touching her naked skin. Durza produced another golden chain, linked to the first in her back, and pulled it through between her trembling thighs. He noted the slick feel of her folds when he parted them to place the chain between them, along her slit, pulling it taut before he presented her with the padlock he had produced from the clasp, golden and glittering with garnets, dark like drops of blood. Belle held her breath when he connected the chain to the one around her waist with the padlock, and she mewled when he trailed his nails along it to check if it all sat nice and tight against her flesh.

“There. How does it feel?”

Belle crinkled her nose (and his heart shouldn’t syncopate like that at the sight) and shifted on her feet. Another blush crept up her neck. “It’s… warm? And I feel it… with every move?”

“That’s exactly like it’s supposed to be. Now you can come with me.” He stepped close, placing his arm around her before twirling his hand and transporting them both up into his chambers, chains and all. Once arrived in his chambers, he slipped the key to the padlock into one of his pockets, under Belle’s suspicious look. He didn’t explain. She would realize soon enough.

“Are you hungry, my love? I think it’s time for a real breakfast.”

He led Belle to a chair with a low table in front of it and summoned a rich meal after sitting down and pulling her into his lap. Apart from her jewelry and chains, she was still naked, and Durza shivered briefly when he brushed his fingertips up her spine and pulled her closer. Pride surged up inside him. She was his, dragon, slave and lover, and she snuggled close and rubbed her naked skin against him. He allowed himself to cup the soft swell of her breast again, pinching her nipple, before he leant forward and picked up a bunch of grapes. Belle reached out to take some of her own, but he clicked his tongue and kept her from it.

“Open your mouth, sweetling. Let me feed you.”

Belle hesitated, not following his order instantly, and only when he pressed the tip of his thumbnail to her bottom lip, leaving a shadow of black poison, she opened up, but she averted her eyes and warmed in his grip. After the grapes, he fed her plums and tender morsels of almost raw meat, just like she liked it, followed by slices of peaches dripping with juice. After each bite, he nudged her to lick his fingers clean, and when she turned her face away from him, he peppered her jaw with kisses until he reached her lips. Under his soft caresses, she melted and gave up resistance, softening to his relentless feeding. At last, he picked up a decanter and put it to her lips, forcing her to drink down sweet fruit wine. He licked any droplet that escaped her from her chin and throat and sucked on the tender spot where her jaw met her neck, leaving a dark mark behind. Belle shivered, but when he reached for the decanter a second time, she shook her head and wriggled on his lap.

“I’m not thirsty anymore.”

“Just another sip.”

She obeyed, then, swallowing down the wine he gave her, but around her eyes were deep lines, the strain of suffering, and she clawed at his robe in silent pleading. He kissed the wine from her lips after setting the decanter down, and squeezed her thigh when she squirmed on his lap. “Now, my love, I have things to do…”

“Please let me stay. Don’t send me back into the dungeon!” Belle interrupted him before he had even finished his sentence, and the need in her voice warmed his insides. He pushed her gently to her feet, pointing at a thick carpet in front of the fireplace.

“You may sit there, my love.”

The chains clanked when she dragged them over to the fireplace, and she frowned when she realized that they were now fastened to an iron ring at the center of his chambers. When she sank down, piling the chains up in front of her, she looked so lost that something flashed up inside him and squeezed his guts; he squashed it instantly. Still, he got up and fetched a carved box. Belle’s face lit up when he placed it beside her, and Durza cursed the thing inside him that wriggled like countless millipedes between his bones at the sight of her smile, tickling him in the most nauseating way.

“Don’t want you to get bored,” he murmured, but Belle was deaf to his words. She had opened the box and buried her hands inside its treasure; gems and jewels of all colors, cut and uncut, catching and reflecting the flickering light of the fire and scattering it all over her naked skin. Belle made a sound deep in her throat, like the purr of a cat or the cooing of doves, and was lost to the world. She was so absorbed that she didn’t even notice that Durza did not work, like he had told her, but sat in his chair and watched her as she built slender towers out of gems, laid them out in lines and circles, and pushed them into the embers of the fire, plucking them out again with bare hands after a while and placing them on her skin. It was fascinating to watch her, and to determine which traits of her were dragon, and which ones spoke of her weak human side. Even more fascinating was it to observe how long it took that weak part of hers to surface. Her treasures occupied her for longer than he thought possible, but eventually, she started squirming once more, and no longer managed to keep still. The jewels that she had placed on her crossed legs rolled off as she wriggled, trying to ease the added pressure of the gold chain between her legs. Hands steepled over his chest, Durza watched her closely, wondering how long she would fight nature before she succumbed to the pressure, and caved in.

Belle moved to kneel, clenching her fists and teetering back and forth, even whimpering softly. Finally, she looked up, eyes searching for him, her brows furrowed and pearly white teeth biting hard on her bottom lip.

“Father,” she murmured, but corrected herself instantly. “Durza. Please, would you take off my reward?” She lowered her eyes and placed her fingertips on the padlock securing the golden chain.

“But why, my sweetling? Do you not want the token of my love anymore?”

She squirmed, and groaned, folding down in herself until she almost touched the floor with her forehead. “Please, I need… I don’t want to soil it. Please.” She sounded pitiful. So much so, that hatred flared up inside him, but it wasn’t directed at the world, or even at her. For one, short moment, Durza loathed the shadows blackening his soul, the shadows that made him take delight in her agony and relish her suffering. He crushed any sign of pity, compassion and doubt.

“What do you need? Tell me.”

She raised her face from the floor, glaring at him, her eyes glinting with something dangerous, like the eyes of a wildcat just before it pounced. “Take off my reward. I need to pee.”

“Ah. Then why don’t you ask for it? Am I not your master, your lover? Do I not always do what’s best for you, my sweetling?”

She was so tense now that she was trembling, and Durza wondered if she was about to shake off his control and turn on him. Her skin radiated a feverish glow, and she sneaked a hand between her legs and pressed it to her groin. “I did ask for it,” she hissed, a dangerous growl deep in her throat, and Durza leant towards her, grabbing the armrests of his chair.

“But not like a good subject, dear. How can I know that you’re really mine if you don’t show your devotion?”

Belle narrowed her eyes, slowly, and clenched her jaws. Her body was as tight as a bowstring, and he wondered how much longer she would hold out. And maybe he was wrong, and she didn’t care all that much for the gold on her skin. At last, though, she pressed her eyes shut and grimaced, then took a deep breath and dragged herself closer to his chair, pulling the heavy chains from her neck and wrists with her. “Please take off my reward… Master,” she snarled, barely unclenching her jaws. It was hardly the heartfelt sign of devotion he had asked for, but then, he wanted her to buck against his reins anyway. How much further would he have to push her?

“Come here, duckling.” He beckoned her closer, summoning a chamber pot at his feet in the same movement. Belle panted as she approached him, her eyes fixed on the chamber pot. Angry red blotches were spreading on her chest and creeping up her neck. Durza wasn’t sure if it was only rage over the humiliation he bestowed on her, or if it was shame, but it had his blood pumping and heat pulse in his lower belly. It was shame, he decided, when Belle came to stand before him, avoiding his eyes as if his gaze was poisonous. She didn’t care much about her nakedness, but what he asked now was something rather private to her. Durza’s lips quirked into a smile when he fished the key to her chastity chain out of his pocket, and he hoped it appeared reassuring and loving and didn’t betray his deep satisfaction, nor his greed. He could simply take off the golden chain with magic, instead of taking the time to unlock it with a key, but the key added a physicality to the act that magic didn’t provide. By using his hands and a key, he gave the act of unlocking a reality and finality that demonstrated his rule over her much more pointedly than a fleeting act of magic. Her skin trembled under his touch when he brushed over her stomach, before grasping the chain around her waist, and the little gasp escaping her when he pulled it taut tingled between his bones. As soon as the chain fell off, she ducked and grabbed the chamber pot, ready to dart out of sight, but Durza hissed and lifted his hand. That was all it needed to freeze her, without any magic at play.

“Please, I really need…” She didn’t finish, but her eyes darted to a screen at the back of his chamber. Durza shook his head.

“You will stay right here, my treasure.”

He could see how she struggled with herself, debating whether she should argue or not, but the urgency of her problem won out. Her gaze fixed firmly to the ground, cheeks blazing, she crouched down above the chamber pot. It took her another moment, pressing her chin hard to her knees and screwing up her face in a grimace, before she finally allowed the water to flow under his unflinching scrutiny. The bright sound of the splatter only deepened the flush on her skin, and Durza wondered if she was on the verge of tears. She radiated such heat that it was hard to tell.

“You don’t need to be ashamed, sweetling. You’re mine, all of you, skin and bones and nails and teeth. There’s not a thing of you I wouldn’t want, my love.”

Deep wrinkles appeared on her forehead, and resistance flickered up in her eyes. He’d seen it often in the eyes of vermin brought before him, when they were cornered and had nothing to lose anymore but their lives, and he’d always enjoyed crushing that last bit of resistance out of them. Their defiance flared up one last time, before they broke like dry sticks. The pleasure he gained from breaking meaningless peasants was nothing to the thrill racing through him now, when every muscle in Belle’s tiny body tensed, and he expected her to fight against his control, finally accessing the dragon that slumbered inside her - instead, she faltered, and the tension washed away.

“Do you really love all of me?” she asked, clenching her hands around her knees. She didn’t look up, though, and didn’t meet his eyes.

“Of course. There, let me help you.” With a flick of his wrist, he materialized a bowl with cold water and a soft cloth on the table before him, and he bent down and pulled Belle up to stand. Her hand tightened around his when he dipped the cloth in water and used it to wash her cunt. She allowed it, just like she allowed him to lead her to the heavy desk where he often worked, with scrolls and maps scattered across. He guided her to stand between him and the table, one hand on her hip, his nails scratching her skin ever so lightly, and he let her feel his breath on the nape of her neck when he bent forward and shoved books and scrolls aside until only the map was spread out before them.

“This map shows Galbatorix’ empire, Alagaësia. It all belongs to my master and king.” He made a gesture to include every corner shown on the map, and Belle tilted her head. Durza used the moment to sweep his lips along the curve of her neck, ending with a kiss below her earlobe. Belle shivered, and he placed his free hand on her stomach. “He bound a dragon - a slave dragon, as you called them - to himself through dark magic, and he conquered all the lands, cruelly and without mercy. Not even my magic is strong enough to withstand him…” He brushed his hand up from her stomach to her chest, placing it above her heart. He didn’t tell her that he had been the one to tutor Galbatorix in the arts of dark magic, nor that he would have done the same the mad king had done to his dragon to her if her skin wasn’t impermeable to his powers.

Belle took a shuddering breath. “Is he ruling the whole world?” She traced the lines depicting the Western mountains, beyond which lay Avonlea, a small corner of the world without any significance, and therefore not on the map.

“Almost. There are small, uninteresting corners where his greed and madness aren’t drawn to. If he knew that there are dragons beyond those mountains, it would no longer be safe.” He covered her hand with his and pressed himself against her back. There were still glowing embers between his pelvic bones, kept alive by her scent, her closeness, and the fresh memory of her humiliation. Belle’s chest heaved as her breath quickened.

“So what would he do?”

“Burn it down. Conquer it all, and subjugate it mercilessly. His madness knows no bounds.”

“And what would he do to me?” Her voice quivered, and Durza cupped her chin and turned her head a little, so she was looking back at him over her shoulder.

“He would try to control you, and then, when he sees that he can’t, he’ll try to kill you.”

“He can’t?”

Durza let his hand glide down her throat, let it glide across her chest, cupping a breast and squeezing it, trailing his nail over her hard nipple before he swept down to her stomach again, and farther down, between her legs, cupping her soft, warm sex. “You are strong, my treasure. Black magic cannot blemish you. Once you’ve turned, nothing will stop you. You could free us from this rotten king.”

She trembled in his arms, gripped by a tension that carried over into his own flesh, and he closed his eyes and pressed his face to the crook of her neck, into her hair. Maybe he should have allowed them more time before confronting her with what he really wanted of her. Maybe he should have held her longer, and more, until she craved him as much as he craved her power, until she was bound tighter to him in love than any chain could ever bind her. He pressed his hand gently to her flesh, moving in little circles, as much to stoke the fire in her blood as to relax her muscles and dispel the tension brimming inside her. Belle panted, leant against his chest and bowed her head.

“I’m a woman,” she whispered. “I cannot overthrow your rotten king.”

“You’re a dragon. This is why you were born to me. You were made to be my mate, and my salvation. Don’t you feel it?” He parted her folds and dipped into the wet heat in between, and he dragged his teeth along her neck, pressing himself harder against her back to let her feel his prick, hard evidence of his desire and need. Belle keened, gasped, grabbing the edge of the table for support. “Don’t you feel how your body responds to me, how you turn soft and wet in my arms? You crave to submit to me, it’s what you were born for…” His hoarse whisper left a damp trail on her skin, and she shivered and groaned when he licked it away, following the curve of her neck. “Tell me, treasure, don’t you love me, and crave me?”

“I do.”

Durza rewarded her admittance with another kiss to her neck. His kiss turned into a bite, and Belle moaned and rolled her hips, twitching when he circled the little nub between her legs. Her necklaces chinked softly when she almost doubled over, and Durza reached for one of the strands, connected to the ornaments dangling from her dark nipples, and pulled her forward, forcing her to bend at the hips and rest her elbows on the table. Her chains clanked against the wooden desk, the dark iron too heavy and ugly to fit with Belle’s fragile beauty.

“Ask for me, my sweetling. Show me that you want me.”

Belle mewled and rubbed herself against him, but when it didn’t produce the desired result, she obeyed. “Love me… Please…”

Durza stepped back and shed his robe. The obscenity of his cock jutting out before him, dark and twitching in his hunger, almost shocked him, and he quickly closed the gap between their bodies again, pressing his prick against her buttocks. “Step apart,” he commanded roughly, and Belle trembled when she did so, opening her legs for him and exposing her most vulnerable place. Before entering her, though, he dragged his fingertips once more along her slit, teasing her until she bucked her hips and whimpered.

“You’re mine, and you’re made for this, aren’t you? You long for this, for my domination, don’t you?” He bent over her, and his breath moved her hair. Belle thrust her head back when he reached around her with his free hand, grabbing her throat above her iron collar and squeezing just enough so he could feel her pulse, could feel the rush of her blood and her heartbeat pounding in her veins. Belle groaned, and grimaced, fighting his control, but when he pushed two fingers up her cunt, she caved in.

“Yes… yes.” She sounded defeated. Durza pressed his forehead against her spine, between her shoulder blades, swallowing something bitter and ugly and black like tar. He couldn’t stop now. He _wouldn’t_ stop now, not when he was so close to turning her on him. And did that tiny bit of regret even matter? He pulled his fingers back, let go of her throat, and guided his cock into her. Belle tensed, rose on her tiptoes, and Durza grabbed her hips to steady her while he thrust into her soft flesh, so hot and wet that it drowned out the cold prickle of shame along his spine. He wasn’t gentle, not even when she moved away from him, as much as the desk in front of her allowed, and Durza followed her, pressing her so hard against the table that she was caught and had nowhere left to go. She groped for something to hold on to on the desk, gasping with every thrust of his, and her nails left scratch marks on the map beneath her. Durza bent over her again, grasping her hands and pinning them down, and he panted into her ear.

“Do you feel how your body and soul crave me? Do you feel how you pulse around me, how your belly begs for me to fill it?” He pressed his lips against the shell of her ear as he rasped his words to her, and Belle shivered beneath him, keened, every needy sound of hers accompanied by a flutter deep in her core, where he could feel it as if it was his own body throbbing with lust and greed. Their sweat dripped down onto the map, leaving salty stains on the parchment, but Durza didn’t care for valuables now. Burying a hand deep in her hair, he pulled back her head, turning it so he could take her mouth in a kiss, teeth clashing against hers, and he groaned when she bit him. He punished her, fisted her hair and thrust harder, relishing the wail it drew from her lips.

“Who do you belong to, Belle?” he asked, voice rough and merciless. Before she could answer, though, someone pounded against the door to his chambers. He stilled, not withdrawing from her, and holding her in place with his iron grip on her hair. “In,” he barked at the door. Belle wriggled, grunted, and he grabbed her neck and held her down, not allowing her to move, not even when a bunch of Urgals burst through the door, dragging a bundle of rags with them. They paused at the sight of him, naked and sweating, his cock buried deep inside Belle. Durza didn’t care. He pulled Belle upright, forcing her head back with his merciless grip, and resumed his thrusting.

“You’re mine, Belle. Let them see.”

Belle panted, clawing at the desk and the map and crumpling the fine parchment in her grip. Her insides fluttered, and she moaned when Durza shoved his hand between her legs again, circling her clit while he pounded into her, until she moaned and writhed and sobbed.

“Please,” she begged, again and again, “I’m yours, please…”

His last thrusts were harder, deeper, and Belle gasped with each one, until she finally tensed, arched, her insides twitching around his cock, while the Urgals stood and watched. Durza allowed the molten heat of her insides to overtake him in bliss, allowed the blinding light to push against his shadows - only for a moment, the length of a heartbeat - and pumped his release into her.

Before he finally pulled back, he rubbed her sex once more, spreading the black wetness dripping out of her on her skin, dragging his palm from her cunt up to her stomach, leaving a filthy, black trail behind. Belle doubled over, collapsing onto the table.

“Now, what do you want?” he snapped at his Urgals, and one of them pulled the bundle of rags to the front. The bundle turned out to be the wet nurse, shaking and sobbing soundlessly, snot and tears running down her face.

“We caught that one trying to sneak away. She stole this.” The Urgal tossed a glinting piece of jewelry to the floor before them. Like a ferret, Belle weaseled around the table and darted for the jewelry, falling to her knees and pressing it to her chest.

“You wanted to leave me?” she asked, voice quivering, and she stared at the wet nurse with her eyes gleaming. In that moment, she was a child, not a dragon, and not a woman, and Durza knew with piercing clarity what he had to do.

“Now, if that doesn’t call for punishment,” he drawled, and the glee he tried to suppress let his voice slide through the room like a velvet snake.

 

 


End file.
